


In Blue Moon’s Light

by Valyssia



Series: The River's Daughter [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst-a-thon, Award Winners, Between the Scenes, F/F, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyssia/pseuds/Valyssia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy expresses her love for Willow...and Oreos. This could be start of something, or it could be a companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/231186">Footprints</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Blue Moon’s Light

**Author's Note:**

> From the episode _Wild at Heart_ :
>
>> **GILES:** _But you've felt that way yourself, and you got through it._
>> 
>> **BUFFY:** _Well, I ran away and went to hell - and then I got through it. I'm kind of hoping Willow won't use me as a model._
>> 
>> **GILES:** _Fair enough._  
> 

Tempt fate much?

All the damned time. It’s a gift.

In my defense, it really wasn’t me, it was Giles. He just had to toss that out there.

Yes, Giles, I got through it. Thanks so much for pointing that out.

I really don’t mean to, but I groan impatiently.

I’m not even sure I believe in fate.

Is that true?

Nah…

 _No_ , I believe. I just think it’s more like this…

Life is sunlight. Sometimes it can be brutally hot. Other times, it’s cold and lonely. Fate’s like a child with a magnifying glass.

A door swings, clacking shut. Reflexively, I tuck tighter against the tree I’m standing behind. _Hiding_ behind. This is really mature, but—

Footfalls carry, moving away from the house. It’s Oz. Strange I can tell that.

I shouldn’t be here. Not that I think he’d mind. It might actually be good for him to know that someone’s watching out for her. He just doesn’t need to see me now. And she needs time alone.

Things are too—

His van door opens. He’d probably smell me any other time. But this time he’s clueless.

There’s a thud. Something heavy hits the seat. Probably a bag. He’s really leaving. The door latch clicks. He starts the engine.

Almost as quickly, he shuts it off. There might be hope.

I have visions of him running back into the house and sweeping her into his arms. Of murmured apologies and tender kisses…

When his door doesn’t open, I just feel sillier by the second. Like some naïve little girl.

Well, the Hallmark montage was nice, but—

Hope’s a pretty rare thing in our world.

God. I sound so jaded.

When did I—?

I hold in a sigh.

Really, I’m not. Or I don’t think I am. It’s just been bad lately.

It gets bad again when his van restarts. I listen to him pull away. And there’s this nagging need to look. It feels wrong. Like I’m meddling in something I shouldn’t. Something private. But this whole thing’s like that. I really shouldn’t be here. It’s just that much worse that a part of me needs to see to make it real.

Like Willow’s tears last night weren’t real enough. All I could do was listen as she cried herself to sleep. Listen and pretend I wasn’t there. Pretend I could really leave like I wanted. Pretend to hold her, like somehow I could protect her. Somehow I had the power to make it better.

Yeah.

That’s realistic. I couldn’t even make myself get out of bed. All I could manage to do was pretend to be asleep.

Oz’s van travels away from me, down the street. I was wrong. I can’t watch.

He _really_ is leaving.

Turning away, I slump. The tree’s rough bark grates against my back. I barely feel it. My thighs pull up to my chest. I rest my forehead on my knee, hug my folded legs and wait.

I want to be mad at him. I should be mad. But while I’m pretty sure I don’t get it all, I think I get it. Two people who are meant to be together. And because something else gets in their way, they can’t. If anyone should get that, it’s me.

But it’s a little different with them. They had something Angel and I couldn’t have. Oz’s being a werewolf was never an issue until…

Oh God.

He’s gotta be terrified.

Giles is right. I remember this. A little too well.

I need to be there for her.

But really, if I’m honest, I need to ‘be there’ for me. Next time Riley might not be able to cover for me. I can’t fail her like that again. If I do, ‘next time’ might be a non-issue.

Bottom line: I have to know she’s safe.

Everything else is negotiable.

The door opens and shuts, this time lots, lots softer. There was an urgency to Oz’s departure. This time, everything is so subdued.

Faint.

Almost too faint.

It’s like listening to a ghost.

I let my ghost pass. The wait’s hard. I want to see her. But I have to let her go. She needs distance and so do I.

When I can’t hear her anymore, I stand and follow. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m stupid. It’s a pretty permanent condition with me. I’ve clued up, gotten over it and moved on.

Rushing to catch up, I play shadow to my ghost.

There’s this way people hold themselves when they’re either really cold or devastated. It’s weird just how similar it is. She’s a picture of this.

It’s not cold.

Actually, it’s a beautiful day. I think that makes it worse.

Trust me, if I could shut the stupid birds up, I would. But I can’t stop the world around us. People are gonna talk…and laugh. Kids are gonna play. Cars are gonna pass. Life goes on.

But she’s frozen.

The muffled sound of her sobs is enough to set me on edge. I’m right back where I was last night. It’s strange what can qualify as torture.

She has to know I’m here, but she makes no sign. As I follow her, it’s hard for me to believe that this person is Willow. My brain doesn’t want to connect the two things. They don’t match.

We’re back on campus before she acknowledges me by asking, “Why are you here, Buffy?” I really wish she hadn’t. The question just makes me feel like I did intrude. I didn’t mean to.

I give her an answer, but not the one she thinks she’ll hear. It’d be easy for me to say, ‘Because you need me.’ And while that’s totally true—or I think it is—I offer the more honest answer, “Because I need to be.”

Thankfully, she just accepts. This whole thing’s hard enough. We must look like some sort of abbreviated funeral procession to the guys playing Frisbee in the quad. It’s better not to notice. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground in front of me, giving her space and letting her lead.

As we close in on our dorm, a sense of dread builds. That’s how this stuff goes. You get close to the end and the next thing seems that much worse.

I have no clue what I’m gonna do. I know what she’ll do. She’ll curl up in a ball and cry. That much is simple.

Should I do the same?

Well, without the crying. I just get to be miserable. To feel inadequate. That’s always fun.

We both have afternoon classes. Maybe I should go?

Really, the idea of sitting in class has zero appeal. But I guess I could get her assignments and make excuses.

And worry…

No. I shouldn’t leave her.

Of course, that just makes me feel stupid again…like I’m coddling her.

I don’t know what I should do. I hate feeling like this.

Maybe I should just let her go?

I can’t.

We reach the front of Stevenson Hall and this nice guy holds the door for us. He’s got that ‘rushing to class’ look, but he finds time for a simple, kind gesture.

I smile and mouth the words, “Thank you.” It’s nice to see. This world might just be worth saving.

Jaded again. Go figure.

I’m not even sure what to do about that. I do know I don’t like it. It clashes.

She leads us through the hallways and up the stairs. A little too soon for my taste, we’re home. Strange that this feels like home, but it does. Or at least it’s starting to.

I pull the key from my pocket, unlock the door and usher her inside. We both go to our separate corners. I slip off my shoes, crawl onto my bed…

And like a good friend, I pick up a magazine.

It’s the last thing I want.

Really, I should be reading my stupid psych book. If I were able to read, I might. But reading requires the ability to concentrate. Something I just can’t do.

I listen to her while I look at the pretty pictures of things I can’t afford. I can barely afford the magazine. I sneak a peek at her over the top of the stupid thing. She’s curled up with her back to me. Big surprise there. I go back to staring at an Elizabeth Arden perfume ad. Fascinating stuff. Like I’d ever spend that much just to smell like the backseat of Cordy’s car. I turn the page.

Y’know, it’s funny, sometimes I get a craving for Oreos. Or more accurately ‘Oreo.’ One’s about all I want. Xander used to love that. Now my dorm mates do.

But it’s weird, I’m not even sure I like Oreos anymore. Mom used to give them to me as a treat when I was little. So now, I just want one every once in a while. I think it’s a comfort thing.

It might be a little less rational than my desire for the perfect pair of Fendi flats. Maybe it’s a little more? I don’t know. Does it really matter?

I think we’re all like that…a jumble of mixy not-so-meshy desires.

Truth is, in the grand scheme, my desire to protect her is arguably lots more rational.

I’d sort of given up on it. Oz protected her. That’s how it should be.

But she needs me now.

And I’m pretty sure there’s not a damned thing wrong with that.

Startling her or making her think that I’m angry would be bad. I just want her to know that I’m moving. I toss my magazine at the foot of my bed.

She glances over her shoulder as I stand. I go to her bedside and kneel. I don’t want to be pushy. But there’s a point—

Wanting to distance myself may just be me. My issue. She may actually need this. I’m not sure I would, but I’m not Willow.

Tentatively, I touch her shoulder. When she doesn’t shy away, I trace gentle circles on her back. She has to know. It’s important to me that she does.

She eventually turns over. Her eyes are all puffy. She studies me. At first, it’s almost like she’s trying to figure me out. But that fades.

Rising up on my knees, I lean over the bed to hug her. It takes a moment, but she returns the gesture.

There’s a sense here. Something underlying. I’m not really sure if she’s doing this for me, or I’m doing it for her. Maybe we’re doing it for each other. I suppose it doesn’t matter. What matters is we do. She clings to me.

What follows is nice. It’s been a long time. She motions me up, placing her head on my shoulder. And I hold her.

Well, ‘nice’ really isn’t the right word. Her pain’s almost tangible. It’s a heavy thing. She weeps quietly. My shirt gets wet. It sticks to me.

But this is familiar. And that’s comforting.

I’ve missed you.

That’s probably a horrible thing to think. It’s definitely selfish at best.

It’s completely natural for people to grow apart. That’s how life is. I just never thought it’d happen to us.

  


* * *

  


I open my eyes and focus on our window. I’m not sure when it got dark. Not that it’s really all that dark, but the light that shines in is muted and cold. The light of a full moon.

She’s still in my arms. Her body shudders. It doesn’t seem like either of us has moved much. Well, my hand has. It rests on the small of her back.  

This gaping hole in my memory, the pasty mouth and the hazy sluggishness all tell me I must’ve passed out.

Guess I needed it. I hope she got some too. Neither of us slept well last night.

As I turn my head to look at the clock, she draws in a shaky breath. Kind of like a hiccup, only with more hic than up. The sort of sound someone makes when they’ve just cried too much. I want to hand her a tissue, but getting to one could be fun. I look down at her instead.

She tilts her head up and meets my gaze. There’s no study this time, just sorrow. Her watery eyes reflect the pale light.

A piece of me feels guilty. It’s annoying as hell. I really shouldn’t, but I _actually_ feel a little better.

Well, except for my shoulder. And I kinda need to pee. It hurts. The shoulder, not the other. I’m not sure what’s up with that. Could be anything. Might even be this. Awkward passing out usually ends well for me.

Not sure I’d know how to act if there wasn’t a little pain. I’m pretty used to it.

Ignoring both, I turn away. I really don’t want to get up yet. I’d have to make her move.

The ceiling’s always fascinating. Look at all those little holes. I wonder how many there are. 

Maybe this is one of the things I was missing? There were so many.

Kinda like all those little holes.

After we graduated, everything changed. I spent my summer playing punching bag to the damned. I don’t know what everyone else did. I do know it was lonely.

Like it or not, the ‘good fight’ doesn’t take the summer off.

When school started, things didn’t go back. I was foolish to hope they would.

It was still me on one side and everyone else on the other.

Willow was right at home here.

Me?

I couldn’t be more out of place with gills and fins.

And the flopping…

Add a hook and that’s pretty much my new fall look.

But I really shouldn’t think stuff like that. Fate might just get an idea. Nasty little bastard.

I stroke her hair. It’s so smooth and soft, soothing to touch. This must be soothing for her too. She takes in a feeble breath, letting it go as a sigh.

Things are so different for you. It’s not like Mom had years to save up a college fund for me. She did her best. Most of what was there got eaten by the divorce. And my dad makes too much.

So…

Not much help.

And it’s not like he’s gonna…

Things are tight. But she really wants this for me. She says it’ll be a ‘good experience.’

I’m _so_ not sold.

Y’know, I wish I could actually tell you all of this. I couldn’t. I still can’t. I hinted. That’s the best I could do. It felt too much like complaining to say any more. And you were so happy.

I blink. A tear leaks out. It trickles down my right temple as I damn myself for being weak. I won’t cry.

This isn’t even about me.

I clamp my eyes shut, pressing down to stop the tears. More leak out when I do. They collect in front of my ears. There’s this little dip that holds them there. When it gets full, so do my ears. It’s kinda gross. Between the pressure and that, I might just scream. Reaching up, I wipe them away before any of that happens.

I draw in a breath to steady myself. Funny, there’s nothing steady about it. It’s nearly as shaky as hers.

I can almost taste the salt. The air’s thick with it. So many tears…

She moves and I do.

Her lips touch mine. I want to pull back, but there’s nowhere to go.

She’s so gentle.

I don’t get it. There’s—

I should push her away, but I don’t. And I don’t know why.

She catches my lower lip and holds it. It’s so brief. And it feels so good that when she lets go, I do the same.

The spell doesn’t last. One word kills it.

“Why?”

My head’s turned and the question’s out there before I even have time to consider. I don’t know what I’m doing.

And neither does she.

She even admits it. “I don’t know.” That’s the best answer she has.

She sits up and combs her fingers through her hair. They catch. It looks painful. I’m amazed she doesn’t pull any out. She won’t even look at me now.

As I roll away and stand up, I get a real answer. Or as real as it gets. She mumbles, “Because you looked like you needed it.”

My second issue’s reaching critical mass. I’ve been trying to ignore it. The pressure’s almost painful. Way past ignoring.

I say, “I’ll be right back,” and leave the room without bothering to explain. We both need the slack anyway. She should get it.

The hallway light’s way too bright. I squint. When my eyes adjust, I head for the restroom.

A big part of me hopes she’ll get it figured before I return. We can just forget. Put it behind us. It’ll be fine. It was a fluke. Like that’s never happened.

There’s this other part I do my best to ignore. It’s an annoying part. Wanting more is ridiculous. Talk about complicated. My life’s never been so complicated.

And that’s seriously saying something.

I still don’t know what time it is. But it’s not that late. Doors are open. There are people in the hall. I paste on a fake smile and return their cheerful greetings. Nice act.

The bathroom door comes as a relief. I really did wait too long. Combine that and the people—not to mention the gluttonous angst buffet—and closing the stall door is one of the high points of my day.

I think I kinda understand bulimia now.

Well, not really. Not so much.

I need a better life.

After taking care of my issue, I hang out just to be alone. Yeah, sitting on the potty shouldn’t feel this good. I rest my elbows on my thighs, taking my face in hand. It feels hot. What am I gonna do?

Sad when the first thing that comes to mind is ‘wipe.’ Uh, yeah…I seriously need a better life.

I wonder if someone would trade. I could pitch the grand destiny angle. It sounds really good on paper.

Nah, I couldn’t do that.

Sorta stuck with the one I’ve got.

The sigh comes as no surprise. But it’s not like I made it happen either.

I rub my eyes and do the first thing that came to mind. ’Kay, so…wash my hands, splash my face and get back there. We’ll see what happens next. Should be fun.

I do all that in order with one quick pause to look at myself in the mirror. No surprise. I look like shit.

When I get back to the room, she’s curled up, sobbing again. I try to catch a glimpse of her face as I shut the door. Nothing doing…

The moment’s passed and we’re right back where we started.

I just don’t know…

I cross the room and flop on my bed. Go figure, the stupid thing creaks in the way that only cheap dorm furniture can. I’d be surprised if the neighbors didn’t hear that.

She sure does.

Livid, she turns on me and snarls, “I don’t get it, Buffy. Just a few weeks ago you were kissing skanky Parker.” I’m on my feet. “But you weren’t just kissing him, were you? You let him stick his—”

The doorknob’s in my hand. I swear if she says it, I’ll be downstairs before—

Standing rigid, I meet her eyes. Lucky for her, she can’t finish.

She looks aghast. Like she can’t believe she said it.

I want to feel bad for her. And I’m not even sure why. She’s the one who’s wrong.

She has to understand. There’s no way she can’t. It’s not like it’s been years. It was just a few months. Before that we were as close as two people can get without—

She knows me.

She knows why I’m here. I didn’t just take this glamorous job for my health. I just couldn’t stand the idea of her getting hurt.

I love her. And she knows it.

Yeah, I’ve never been good at expressing myself. I didn’t say it.

Well, actually, I did. Figures, I couldn’t say it right. I just had to toss that ‘kind of’ in there. Nothing like a little soft language to get your point across.

Her face is streaked with fresh tears. I watch more fall as she asks, “Am I—?” She gulps. “Was it really all that awful?”

Oh God…

And…

All of that anger just goes ‘poof.’ I can’t hold on. My hand falls from the doorknob. I hang my head and walk back to my bed.

This is just too horrible for words. How can I possibly tell her that that was the nicest thing that’s happened to me in weeks?

I can’t—

I try to fake it. “No, actually, not awful…” The whole thing goes as well as expected. I look up and she glares at me. Back peddling, I fill in lamely, “ _Really_ not awful.”

And the emotional rollercoaster claims another victim. It’s okay. I’ll take my lumps. But I can’t let her get her hopes up.

That’s assuming she’s together enough to have hopes.

Big assumption.

Confusion isn’t just a state anymore. It’s a whole country. And Willow’s its Commander-In-Chief.

When I interject a bit of reality, her glare sharpens. “But that doesn’t make it right.” And I find myself tripping all over my tongue again. “Not that there’s anything wrong with, uh…I mean, two women together…it’s fine. That’s fine.” This is so much fun. Can I just get someone to punch me in the face instead?

“It’s just you and me,” I mumble and slump onto my bed. Damned thing creaks, I fumble, “I dunno, Will—” and sigh “—it’s just not right.”

I can smell the rebound now. Give it a month. We’ve got issues a plenty without this. Scads of issues here. A plethora of issues. Can we work through those first?

Call it a mistake. At least for now. ’Cause it was. At least for now…

Maybe later.

Oh, I don’t know.

Why can’t you see that?

But she doesn’t see. It’s obvious when she asks, “Why does it always have to be about what you want, Buffy? Just this once, why can’t it be about me too?”

Meeting her eyes, I ask, “So what exactly do you want, Willow? What are you looking for?” Answering her questions with a redundant question could just be construed as the rudest thing ever. But I’m pretty sure this counts as an exception. Rules are rational.

Well, usually.

Unless governments are involved.

That or crusty old British guys. I’d never think that something like the Cruciamentum sounded even remotely like a good idea.

Who knows? Old guys in general might be the issue.

And they say we’re irrational.

Whatever.

I hang my head. My forearms are on my knees and my hands hang between them. I stare at my wrists and wait for an answer. It’s a whole lot easier than facing her.

Hell, the _Little Shop of Horrors_ that came out of the Hellmouth was easier. Gianormous, snake-like, demon-mayor…no problem.

Hurt Willow? Uh, yeah…I’ll just be over here feeling like a total ass.

The one she gives comes as a complete shock. “I don’t know.” It’s textbook. Color me stunned.

I mumble to my wrists, “And that’s why it’s wrong.”

She knows it’s wrong. It’s that simple. Now she’s just being defensive. That’s the only thing this could be. Either that, or she’s insane.

I don’t even bother to look as she rants, “Buffy, I’ve been following you around for three years now. Do you think I did that just because?” But this last part is impossible to ignore. Her voice loses its edge. She whispers, “I love you.”

I look up.

She’s so earnest.

At least we agree on something.

I reply, “I love you too, Will.” There’s no ‘kind of’ to it.

It’d be great if I could just leave it. Not me. I just have to add, “But it’s not like that.” I’m not even sure if that’s true. I’ve had, uh…about zero time to consider it.

And it’s not because of the—well, maybe it is. I don’t know.

But I never considered Xander either. You guys were my friends. _Are_ my friends. I like to keep those things separate. It’s better for the friendship. And God knows I needed friends. I still do.

Huh.

I bite my lip.

I still taste the salt.

She may’ve really meant that.

And not just in the ‘my whole world’s falling apart, so I’m gonna reach out to the first warm body’ kinda way. Weird…

Y’know, what I said earlier about forgetting? Not gonna happen. It was misguided as hell. But that might’ve been the sweetest thing ever.

Too bad I can’t tell her. She looks so wounded.

Yeah. Go me.

And a splash just won’t do. Not when I have this great big bucket of ice water. Why not pour the whole thing?

I stand and do just that. “Look, this isn’t just about you. It’s about _us_. And I don’t think this is what either of us needs right now.”

She turns away.

I can’t help the simple truth.

The other thing I can’t help is running my mouth.

She needs to get what this is about. I start off with more truth. “Right now, what I need is just to know that you’re safe.” I approach her bed. It hurts that she turned her back on me. I kneel and reach out.

At least she doesn’t shrug me off.

I rub her back and whisper, “I want to hold you. I want to say all of those stupid things that people say. Doesn’t matter that we both know they’re not true. I still want to tell you that it’ll be okay. It’ll get better.” A bitter snicker slips out before I can catch it. She doesn’t react at all. I add, “Oh, and my personal favorite, ‘you just need time’.”

This whole thing’s making me crazy. She holds herself. I trace lazy patterns over her shoulders wishing she’d just do something.

Anything.

React at all.

She doesn’t. All she has for me now is silent tears and gentle trembling.

I can’t stand it.

I hop to my feet and go back to my corner. The stupid bed creaks. I curl up with my back to her and ask, “What I really want to know is how much? How much time do I need?” I raise my voice, growing angrier by the second. “What does it take? When do I get to stop feeling incomplete? Like there’s a hole in my chest. Like I can’t possibly feel whole again without someone else.”

Her bed squeaks. She must’ve turned. I ignore her and go on. “I really don’t get it. I don’t see why I can’t feel complete all by myself.”

I feel her. She’s next to my bed. I turn onto my back and meet her eyes. She mouths the words, “I’m so sorry.”

“It makes no sense,” I whisper. My voice is choked. I clear my throat. God damned tears. “I should be able to have that.” She kneels and hugs me. “But I don’t. I keep looking for something…something I shouldn’t need.”

I lift her onto my bed and hold her.

I really don’t understand.

I wish I could.


End file.
